


Pacific Street

by Polly_Lynn



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Lynn/pseuds/Polly_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wants to say no. He wants Kate to say no, too. He wants to steal time with her. To pretend that they're out together. The two of them. But it's not a good idea." A tag set slightly after "A Dance With Death" (4 x 18). References to "Knockdown" (3 x 13) and "Knockout" (3 x 24).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pacific Street

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Brain was suddenly captivated by the idea of doppelgängers and how to guard against them.
> 
> Title is borrowed from [a song by Hem](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bm5AYNqdpJs) that happens to be about the band's neighborhood in Brooklyn; that's just happy coincidence. I love the song. 
> 
> * * *

  


Stay where we are

We'll wash up at the corner bar

Because leaving things is just too hard for me

\- Hem, "Pacific Street"

* * *

Lanie wants to dance.

It's how they all ended up here, and it's not that Castle isn't grateful.

He's out with Beckett. Beckett plus four, but that doesn't bother him. He likes the math of it. He likes the way it's obvious. That the way they pair off into the booth is a given.

He likes that they're all crowded in together. That the light is dim and her thigh presses against his. That it's only sensible for him to drape his arm along the high back to make more room. To let it stretch out and come to rest just above her shoulders. He likes that every now and then, she laughs long and loud enough that she leans into him.

He likes that her hair is down and her jacket is hanging a hook somewhere. She's not on the verge of bowing out. She's not about to make her excuses and go.

Her sleeves are rolled up and she's laughing out loud at something he just said. Something so stupid he forgot what it was—what it was even about _—_ the exact second she threw her head back and he watched the sound work its way up and out of her.

He likes all of it, and he's grateful. How could he _not_ be grateful?

He just wonders if it's a good idea.

It's fun. That's not it at all.

It's fun, even though it's kind of a weird place. A Hungarian beer hall with a real New Orleans jazz band a couple nights a week and a sprawling dance floor. It's Brooklyn on a Thursday night, and he's about a million years older than anyone here. But it's fun.

One song ends and the band kicks immediately into another. Lanie takes Esposito's beer from his hand and grabs him by the shirt front. She pulls him out of the booth. He grumbles and digs in his heels, but only so she can tug harder. So he can let the resistance go all at once and stumble into her.

Castle expects Jenny and Ryan to follow. They're still fresh off the dance lessons they took for the wedding, and it's as much fun to _ooh_ and _ah_ over their moves as it is to nudge Kate's shoulder with his own and go on and on about how disgustingly _cute_ they are. It's just as much fun to wait for her to roll her eyes in agreement and then keep watching for the tiny bright smile she gives when she thinks he's not looking any more. As if he's not always looking

He expects that he and Kate will hold down the table while the other four tear it up on the dance floor. That's how it's gone so far. He's more than fine with that, but now Ryan is standing there with his hand held out toward Beckett and Jenny is looking at Castle expectantly.

He wants to say no. He wants Kate to say no, too. He wants to steal time with her. To pretend that they're out together. Just the two of them.

But it's not a good idea.

Castle slips off his own jacket and drapes it over the bench. Jenny has a wrap that she leaves behind on the other side to mark the table as occupied, and all of a sudden, they're all on the dance floor and Jenny is making him look good.

It's fun. A little awkward, given how tiny Jenny is, but she goes easy on him. She keeps his part simple and adds her own flourishes here and there. She's a good partner. It's fun and he smiles wide. He catch's Kate's eye and tips his head to one side. Her gaze follows and she laughs.

Lanie is kicking at Esposito's feet. He glowers and they snipe at each other. A fierce, whispered conversation on his side and sharp words that carry easily over the music on hers. But the next second, the two of them share one knowing grin when he finally gets the steps right. Their bodies pull toward one another like it's inevitable, and Kate's smile turns warm.

He's having a great time. She seems to be, too, but even on the relative safety of the dance floor the pull to her is there. Strong tonight. Stronger even than usual, and he wonders if this is a good idea.

The song ends. Jenny and Kevin drift toward each other and he looks for an escape route. The clearest path back to the table, but Lanie catches him by the wrist and the band launches into something up-tempo. He doesn't have a second to think.

Lanie calls out instructions and moves with him. He's clumsy at first. Constantly a step behind and thinking too hard now. The song is _fast_ and the dance floor is crowded, but Lanie knows what she's doing. She wants to dance and there's love for it in every confident line of her body. He stops thinking. He listens to the music and turns his attention to her and it comes together. They're laughing and moving easily in sync, and it's fun.

Lanie nudges under his arm. He spins her out and back into his body so they're side by side. Jenny and Kevin sail by. They shout something he doesn't catch, but Lanie bumps him a quarter turn and he sees.

Esposito and Beckett are a few couples away. Deep in the heart of the crowd and they're not so much dancing as having a head-to-toe argument. It's so _them_.

There's a lull in the music. Not quite an ending, but a segue into another song with an even more relentless pace. Lanie looks at Castle inquiringly. He nods and turns them.

They edge closer to Jenny and Kevin and the four of them fix it so they're all able to watch Esposito and Beckett. They shout to one another. Commentary and speculation. It turns into a series of bets about who'll win the fight to lead.

It's mostly Castle and Ryan, but Lanie's loyalties demand she weigh in. Jenny's laugh rings out as she tells them they're all terrible.

The music whips up and Esposito's shoulders slump in defeat. Castle lets out a crowing laugh. Ryan sourly passes him a few crumpled bills. Castle holds them up and promises the next round is on him.

It never pays to bet against Beckett. The thought makes him smile.

Smile. That's an understatement. The band ends on a huge crescendo. His heart is pounding from the exertion and four or five other things that probably aren't a good idea. He feels like he's breaking open.

The music drops into a low, slow number, then. He gives Lanie a little bow. She nods to him as she glides away through the crowd toward Esposito. She barges in between him and Kate like she's breaking up a fight. She might be at that.

Kate's face is such a picture as she jerks Esposito around and propels him toward her friend. She's annoyed. Even though she won—Esposito let her lead—she's righteously annoyed, but still. Still, there's this happy, yearning set to shoulders when she turns away and a light, easy lift at the corners of her mouth.

It's hopeful. It's dangerous and there the two of them are. He and Kate. Free, but not alone.

It's really not a good idea.

The crowd jostles them both gently to the edge of the dance floor and strands them. Eye to eye and toe to toe. There's half a moment when he might ask. When the light is just right and he might take her hand without a word.

But it passes like moments always do for them.

Because they don't do this. Not together.

They did once. Kevin and Jenny's wedding. But this is different. This isn't a good idea. Without that kind of magic—without that particular alignment of planets—it's not the kind of thing the two of them do.

He and Kate.

Not together.

A waitress pushes between them, her tray held high. There's an awkward laugh from Kate and he breathes out again. He offers to get drinks. Says he owes her anyway and promises to tell the story of the easy money burning a hole in his pocket. Her breath rushes out to join his.

_Yes. Please._

She gives him a smile and it doesn't pale. It will never pale, even in comparison with what might have been half a moment ago.

So here they are, and it's fun. He's grateful.

He's just not sure it's a good idea.

* * *

"So," she says.

He turns to her.

It's safer to keep their eyes on the dance floor. Scanning for their friends and reporting back to one another. It's safer, and every time either one of them lives dangerously, they're caught. Her eyes on him and the other way around. They lose time together. Tangled glances and things they almost say until something snaps them back again.

It's an awkward dance of their own, but it's safer.

Because now—turning toward her like this—his knee bumps hers and he's not sure how they're selling this to themselves. Sharing a bench on one side of table that no one else is coming back to any time soon. It's not the kind of thing they do.

"So." He turns to her.

She hesitates. If it were anyone but Kate Beckett he'd say her courage failed her.

"This is fun," she says and the faintest pink tinges her cheekbones.

It's lame, even though she means it. She's having fun and so is he, but even so, it's lame. Painfully awkward small talk from anyone else. But they're not anyone else.

"It is." He leaves it at that.

He nods and she smiles at him. A thank you for not making it any worse than she already has.

She takes a long swallow of beer. Stalling for time, he thinks. She's Kate Beckett and her courage hasn't failed her, but it's digging in its heels. "I'm . . . surprised it came together."

It's hesitant in a way that tells him there's a clue here.

This is how it goes lately.

She's opening up. In her way, she's opening up, and when there's something she wants to talk about, she does this. A breadcrumb trail she hopes that he'll follow. Something she wants to talk about, but she wants him—needs him, maybe?—to draw her out.

It's slow and sideways and there are nights at a time that he lies awake wondering how much more he can take. Always wondering close he got to it. The thing that would make her see that it's ok to let him in. Worrying how many things he missed along the way. Things that he left her alone with because he didn't know. Because so much of her is still a mystery.

But it's a far cry from the beginning when she kept every bare fact of her existence so closely guarded. It's a far cry from six months ago. From the absolute silence he still can't think about without everything inside him going hot and cold—angry and paralyzed and fearful all at once.

It's a far cry and he gets up every morning and does it all over again. He looks for clues and follows the breadcrumb trail.

Here and now, there's something on her mind. It's hesitant. He needs more to go on. Her gaze drifts away from him. Back toward the dance floor, but she's not just fishing for small talk. For something safe. She's watching.

Lanie and Esposito are nearer than he'd realized. They're just at the edge of the sea of dancers. Out of the fray and cheek to cheek now. They're hardly moving at all.

"Surprised?" Castle gestures with his glass. Esposito dips his head. He whispers in Lanie's ear, and she pulls back like she's offended. But it's all play. Part of the dance. He tugs her back to him and she goes willingly. "No one says no to Lanie."

Kate's smile is a little wider now, and he thinks he's on the right track. Not close yet, but it wasn't a wrong turn at least.

"Not even after a stripper date?" She says it into her beer. She hides her mouth, maybe because the smile doesn't seem to be going anywhere. There's another clue here, but he's damned if he knows what it is. She's overplaying it. Leaning too hard into a one-of-the-guys vibe.

He wonders for a moment if he's wrong. If this whole night is fun and all, but it's a bad enough idea that he's reading into things. That he wants this to be her reaching out. If it's just that he's too quick to see it as her opening up, when it's really just a run-of-the-mill fishing expedition. He wonders if maybe she's on a recon mission for Lanie and she wants to know if Esposito let anything drop to him and Ryan.

He wonders, but then her hands give her away. They're busy. With a rolled up napkin of silverware. With the interlocking initials scratched into the scarred wooden table. They're busy, then they're abruptly still.

She's waiting. There's a clue.

"Stripper dates come and go," he says finally. She gives him a sharp look, and he takes a leap without really thinking about it. He takes a leap and says something he's not sure he meant to say. "Lanie's not the kind of woman you get over."

"No?"

He's expecting . . . something. Something to go with the single word. A glare, maybe? Retreat is more likely, and everything in him sinks. He takes a second. He studies his hand on the table. Hers nearby and the linked rings of condensation their two glasses leave. He takes a second before he looks up.

She's looking at him. It's not quite a glare. It's not _not_ a glare either. He knows those inside and out. Every one. But this has something new mixed in. Something complicated. Steady and considering, like she's satisfied by the answer and maybe curious. Encouraging, like she wants to know what he means, but he's the one who needs drawing out.

Maybe he does.

His fingers grip the edge of the table as the possibility strikes him with force. It's so far from where he was ten seconds ago that it's like whiplash.

Maybe tonight he's the one who needs drawing out.

"No," he repeats. He goes on before he can think about it. Part of him thinks it's a dumb plan. Not thinking. Part of him wonders where it might take them. He goes on, in any case. "She has his number. She knows where all the bodies are."

A grin licks over her lips, amused and wicked. She looks up at him and there's a challenge in her eyes. "And you think he likes that? You think _Esposito_ likes that?"

"I think he loves it." It comes out quickly. Definitely before he can think. Before he can wonder whose breadcrumbs these are. Who's scattering and who's following and where the hell it is they're getting to tonight. "He loves that she knows him like that."

He grabs the pint he's now pretty sure was a bad idea and knocks back more of it than he ought to. The beer slides down his throat and that's one way out of this.

But she's still looking at him. Not constantly, but stealing glances. Dividing her attention between him and the chain she's making with watermarks. Lifting her glass and setting it down again. Link by link.

"It's . . . reassuring, I guess," she says finally. And before he can ask—before he needs to draw her out, and maybe even before she can think—she goes on, "to have someone who would know."

"If you'd been replaced." He says it right away. No pause at all, and she looks a little startled. Like they don't follow each other like this all the time. But it's fair enough. He only thought of the case—about Odette and Barbara—because he's _not_ thinking. He's not thinking. "I'd know. If you weren't really you. I'd know."

Her face changes. It dims and her eyes drop to the table once and for all. He's panicked and kicking himself. He knew this was a dumb plan, though he's not exactly sure _how_ it's dumb. He's not exactly sure what's gone wrong.

She tells him though. Before he's had much time at all to wonder, she tells him.

"Montgomery," she says. "Roy."

It's so far from anything he was thinking that he has nothing. No air or breath or words. No thoughts at all in those first, terrible seconds.

But of course it's logical. Of course it's what she'd think. The darkest secret they share.

It breaks his heart. It's not what he'd say. It's not how he'd know at all, and it breaks his heart that she thinks it's all they have. That the only way he'd know her is all the lies tangled up around the second worst moment they've survived.

His eyes drift to the dance floor. They follow her gaze and he can just barely see her face out of the corner of his eye. A pained kind of smile that he doesn't understand.

He knows the sorrow. The loss and lingering anger. At Montgomery. At him, too, probably. Because a part of her still thinks he should have let her go back in that hangar. Those are things he understands, whether or not he'd argue with her until his dying day. He would.

But it's a real smile, too, and he wants to know about it. He wants to draw her out, but he's lost the trail now.

"I'm glad they don't know." She says it suddenly. Fiercely, through that same smile. "Jenny and Lanie."

"You don't think . . . ?" He trails off.

She looks at him—just briefly looks at him—and there's no point in going on. She's certain. Right or wrong, in her mind, it's absolute.

_No one outside this immediate family._

Right or wrong.

He hasn't told anyone. It's absolute for him because he could never ask them to carry that burden. His mother. Alexis. He couldn't do it. Put them in danger, maybe. And he supposes that's close to home. He supposes that's why she's certain.

But he can't imagine keeping it from her. From Kate. He wonders which is stronger. The need to protect—to carry some things alone and borrow peace when it comes to that—or the need to be known.

It's absolute for him because Kate already knows, but it's so beside the point.

It's _interesting_. It's something he'll come back to. Behind his desk and at his keyboard. It's a question of motive and right now it has nothing to do with this. The two of them. Together. Right now, it's so fucking unimportant.

"It's not how I'd know." He's not sure where the words come from or where they're going. "It's not what I'd say."

She looks at him again. Straight on now. He's the one who's stealing glances. He's studying the tabletop and peering up at her once in a while. And every time he does, she's searching his face. Like there's time. Like this is the kind of thing they do. Together.

The light is dim and the booth is too small, even with just the two of them. Especially with just the two of them. Maybe that's why.

"No?" she asks, and it's the same as before. It's not a glare, but it's not _not_ one. It's sadder, maybe, but steady and considering. Curious and trying to draw him out.

"No." He says it firmly. "I'd say I kissed you once."

He meets her eyes. She's still looking at him. Straight on, though maybe a little shaken.

He stops thinking. He feels the music rattling the the wooden booth and the trill of Jenny's laughter. He sees a flash of color just beyond her. The bright blue of Lanie's dress.

He watches Kate in the dim light of Brooklyn on a Thursday and he has that feeling again. More than a smile. Like he might be breaking open.

"I'd say I kissed you and you kissed me back."

"I did _not_ . . ." She sputters. She flushes. A trail of pink climbing her cheek bones and disappearing into the vee of her blouse.

The look she gives him isn't a smile. But it's not _not_ a smile.

She doesn't look away.

He doesn't either.

He leans in and clinks his pint glass against hers.

"You'd deny it." He leans in and lets the words curl around her ear. "And I'd know it was you."

  



End file.
